


Some Consequence Yet Hanging in the Stars

by stormproofmatchgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Dean Winchester-centric, Dean dealing with his emotions, Emotional Realism, Heartbreak, M/M, Metaphysics, Season/Series 15 Spoilers, and a dash of hope, canon-divergent, if you like complexity, ish, season 15 fix-it fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26936572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormproofmatchgirl/pseuds/stormproofmatchgirl
Summary: Dean considers how to exert his free will, even in the face of a devastating loss."Chuck thinks he can predict your every move, so you get this stupid idea in your head about doing things you normally wouldn’t do. Like finally working up the courage to slip your hand into Cas’s the night you come back from Purgatory together, driving to a casino in Milford, Nebraska, while a soft winter rain falls down on the road ahead of you."(This fic contains spoilers based on very loose and inaccurate interpretations of 15.15-15.18 previews. If you are completely unspoiled for those episodes, you might want to avoid it!)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Some Consequence Yet Hanging in the Stars

  
_Wheels have been set in motion, and they have their own pace, to which we are condemned. Each move is dictated by the previous one - that is the meaning of order. If we start being arbitrary it'll just be a shambles: at least, let us hope so._

-Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, Tom Stoppard

Sam once called you a romantic underachiever. You can find a warm body to fuck without much effort, but the idea of trying to make something lasting? Something meaningful? For a long time now, you’ve been of the mind that you can’t fail if you never try. You can’t be rejected if you never apply for the job in the first place. But Chuck thinks he can predict your every move, so you get this stupid idea in your head about doing things you normally wouldn’t do. Like finally working up the courage to slip your hand into Cas’s the night you come back from Purgatory together, driving to a casino in Milford, Nebraska, while a soft winter rain falls down on the road ahead of you. 

Maybe you’re really just trying to convince yourself you’re not a robot. That every move you make isn’t based on this damaged version of yourself that Chuck’s been trying to program into you since day one. Maybe you’re just desperate for a little reassurance that you’re capable of something more than what’s expected of you. 

“Is this… okay?” you ask, even though Cas is already lacing his fingers with yours. You glance over at him in the passenger seat and his eyes are wide with wonder and he’s smiling just a little.

“It’s okay, Dean,” he says. But it feels like he means more than just you holding his hand. It feels like he’s holding your heart. _It’s okay._

The wipers squeak slowly across the dark windshield and you try to slow your breathing to the same steady rhythm. 

-

Cas isn’t around much after that and when he is, there isn’t a lot of downtime. And suddenly Jack has a soul again and you feel like you’ve been thrown on stage without knowing your lines, everyone staring at you, expecting something from you that you don’t have. 

He’s sorry. Fine. But he’s still the one who killed your mom. And that’s something you think about every time you look at him, soul or no soul. The kid can cry all the tears in the damned world, but it’s not going to change anything. 

You see Cas doting over him in the dim light of the kitchen and you wish it didn’t bother you, but it does. You wish you didn’t think about how much simpler things might be between you and Cas if Jack wasn’t around. But you do. You think about that. And then you think about what a dick you are for thinking it. Cas still loves the kid, and you can’t fault him for that. Right?

That night, you retreat to your bedroom without a word to anyone, a bottle of scotch swiped from the library. You throw side three of Physical Graffiti onto the turntable and let the droning opening riffs vibrate through your bones like a low rent bio-feedback machine. Who needs therapy when you’ve got John Paul Jones on synths and Page on guitar with a fucking violin bow?

You might never have heard the knock except for the fact that it comes during Bron-Yr-Aur, and you kinda wish you hadn’t. But you roll off the bed and pluck the stylus off the record, grunt out a short permission to enter.

Of course it’s Cas. Standing there with that little frown on his face that you know you’re not going to be able to wipe away. He looks tired, squinting at you like even the small amount of light from your desk lamp is too bright, and you wonder how long he’s been sitting in that dark kitchen with Jack, reassuring him that they’ll all be a family again and that everything can be how it was before. 

“Dean. You left before I had a chance to speak to you, and I just wanted to say…”

“Yeah?”

“I know this is difficult for you. And that it might take some time—“

“Some time? Is that it?”

“Dean, Jack’s soul is back. What he did was terrible, but—“

“No buts, Cas. My mom is…” You can’t say it (could never say it—not at 4 or 24, and not now). Instead you shake your head, wait for the tension in your larynx to dissipate, while Cas waits respectfully for you to continue. “And _some time_ isn’t going to change that. And it’s not about being angry, not like it was with us, or how it’s been before with Sam. It’s about what’s not there. This… this void. You know? And maybe on some basic level I can forgive him. ‘Cause I know he wasn’t himself, man. I know that. But I know he wants more than just forgiveness. I know you want more… and I can’t…” 

“Dean…”

“We were supposed to be a family and… what if… what if I can’t be that for him again?”

“I don’t know. What are you really afraid of here, Dean?”

“What do you think? I know how important he is to you.”

“You think I’ll leave?”

“No. I don’t know, man. I just don’t want to disappoint you, alright?”

You hate feeling like this. Like you can’t tell what you actually want from what other people want from you. If you forgive Jack, why are you doing it? Is it your choice? Or maybe it’s because you feel like you have to, because it’ll make Cas happy. It’ll make things easier for everyone when everything else is already so damn hard and you can’t take the pressure. It’ll let Jack focus on defeating Chuck and Amara. It’ll be easier. 

The path of least resistance. 

But that sounds to you a hell of a lot like playing into fate’s hand. And that’s fucking terrifying.

“Dean,” Cas says, and suddenly his hands are on your shoulders, warm and strong. “Do whatever is right for you. Don’t worry about me. I’m here. For Jack, and for you. But do you know what you need… for yourself?”

You think about it for a moment, look down at the narrow space between your body and Cas’s. Try to remember the last time anyone ever asked you that.

“Yeah,” you say, “maybe I do.”

You think, _there’s only one way this will end, you damn fool, and it’s going to break your heart._

And you kiss him anyways.

-

Cas knew. He knew this would happen but he didn’t stop you. You tell him he’s crazy, suicidal, selfish. All kinds of crap that you know to be untrue. 

“Who knows how long we would have had, Dean. And if you’re not even happy, what's so good about surviving? I prefer to believe I would have been crazy not to let it happen.”

You don’t know whether to cry or laugh hysterically at that.

“Sure,” you say, slumping over in the old leather armchair, smiling even as the tears start to slip out. “You’re stark raving sane.”

Like a bailiff serving a court summons, The Empty had just showed up while you were sitting here eating a stack of pancakes, Cas across the room, flipping through some old grimoire, listening while you rambled like an idiot in between mouthfuls about how consuming maple syrup made you a tree vampire. 

And somehow now you’re still here—nearly an hour has passed, though it feels like ten years but also 30 seconds—collapsed in the library armchair with a plate of cold, half eaten pancakes at your feet and an angel with ten minutes left until his expiration date standing in front of you. And you’re crying because apparently watching you eat breakfast and make bad dad jokes has somehow caused Cas to be happier than he’s ever been. Happy enough to die.

Only three days have passed since that night you kissed. Three measly days.

“It’s okay,” Cas says, crouching down to press his face against the top of your bowed head, maybe his lips too. You feel the words in your hair like snowflakes. “You’ll be alright. You need Jack more than you need me.” 

“I shoulda…. Cas… I was too scared for so fucking long. I’m sorry.”

“You can still be brave, Dean. Right now. You can let me go.”

Cas has his hands around your face now, and you are so close that his breath falls onto your chin. And you think, if you want it enough, can you hold him here in this moment and let time move forward without you? If you want it more than anything you’ve ever wanted for yourself? This one thing? This being here with Cas, with all the truths you’d both been hiding—for too goddamn long—finally free and more beautiful than you could have ever imagined? 

“Dean. You have to let me go.”

You can’t breathe. You should be ready. You’ve lost him before. But this time is different. This time he is right here and you know… you know what you both want, more than anything. And it is what you can never have. 

Cas presses his hand over your heart—your stupid, stupid heart—and you grab his hand with your own. 

Sometimes you forget he’s so much bigger than this body, that his hand is not his hand. Cas was never small enough to be human, to keep himself jammed in one of these tiny, fragile bodies. He’s always been bursting at the seams. Always been pushing back. Defying definitions.

You can’t let him go if he’s never been yours to keep.

You shake your head. “It’s not up to me, Cas.” 

Cas nods. The lights flicker. The floor rumbles underneath you and you watch him disappear up the stairs of the bunker, his coat flapping behind him like a battle flag. The Empty is waiting. 

He’s not dying for you. He’s dying for everything he’s become, every day he’s been Cas, and not Castiel, Angel of the Lord. He’s dying for Jack. He’s dying for free will. He’s dying so that it all fucking meant something. And you hate him so much and you’ve never been prouder.

And you love him. You love him.

So maybe free will is just every little moment you push yourself. Every time you feel resistance, but keep going. And maybe it only happens a few times in your life. Maybe you’re mostly doing what your family expected of you, what you expect of yourself. But maybe it only takes one turn. Just one turn off that smooth highway and onto a narrow dirt road, to send you on a completely different journey. 

You were right. Your heart is broken. But you would never change that. And you aren’t afraid of this road anymore. 

_Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,  
Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky  
Gives us free scope; only doth backward pull  
Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull. _

-All's Well that Ends Well, William Shakespeare

-

**Author's Note:**

> (Title of this fic is from Romeo and Juliet, act I, scene iv. Also, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead is bloody brilliant and everyone should go read or watch it immediately if you have not already.)


End file.
